Deaf Ears
by Tabloid
Summary: "Why couldn’t she recognize her own son? I have her eyes. Why couldn't she see that?" "Momma’s eyes brighten. 'Yes. Patrick, my baby. Have you heard from him? Do you know him? Is he over there?”'"


Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies, Patrick or his momma. Momma. Hehe. Funny word, if you think about it.  
  
A/N: This' got some kinda paranormal thingie goin' on in it, but please read it anyway. Paranormal's FUN. FUN FUN FUN.  
  
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I watch as Momma turns away from Crutchy, pain on her face. Didn't she see me standing right next to her? Why couldn't she recognize her own son?  
  
I have her eyes. Why couldn't she see that?  
  
"Momma." I say quietly, my voice drowned out by a breeze. "Momma, I'm here, Momma. I'm right next to you."  
  
A single tear flows down my mother's face and she turned, not hearing me and began to walk towards home.  
  
"Momma. Momma, where are you going? I said I was right here." I whimper, following her, my footsteps silent.  
  
"Momma. Momma. Please look at me, Momma. I'm sorry Momma." I curse myself as tears begin to flow down my face. "Momma. Why won't you answer me, Momma. Don't you love me anymore?"  
  
"MOMMA!" I scream, my voice lost on deaf ears. "MOMMA! PLEASE MOMMA, I'M SORRY! MOMMA, I LOVE YOU!"  
  
""Scuse me, Ma'am."  
  
Momma turns as Bumlets and Swifty walk up to her.  
  
"Yes?" My momma asks in her soft voice.  
  
Momma, why are you talking to them? Why won't you talk to me? I'm your son, Momma.  
  
Bumlets's face looks sullen as he bites his lower lip. Swifty's busy inspecting every scuff on his boots.  
  
Hurry up and talk to her, idiots. So I can talk to my momma.  
  
"Uh, ma'am." Bumlets chokes out. "Ev'ry day we hear ya an' see ya lookin' fer your boy. Patrick."  
  
Momma's eyes brighten. "Yes. Patrick, my baby. Have you heard from him? Do you know him? Is he over there?" Her eyes scan the crowd of Newsies walking away.  
  
Momma, I'm right here.  
  
"Uh, Ma'am." Swifty cuts in. "Er. Patrick. Well, Patrick." Swifty shakes his head as if clearing his thoughts. "I don' know any other way to tell ya dis, ma'am, so I'll get to da point. Patrick- he's dead."  
  
My mouth drops open.  
  
"Swifty. What the hell are you telling my momma that for?!" I scream. "Don't hurt my momma! I'm right here! Can't you see, I'm right here!"  
  
I turn to Momma, who had fallen to her knees, sobbing. "Momma, don't listen to him! I'm right here, Momma, I'm right here." I try to wrap my arms around her, hold her, comfort her.  
  
My arms pass right through her.  
  
My eyes widen. "Momma. Momma? What- Momma."  
  
"How?" My momma whimpers.  
  
"Ma'am. He got into a scrape down in Bronx. We don' know what 'e wad doin' dere, but he got into a fight 'tween two older guys. One a dem- Hunter, the leader of Bronx, he pulled out a gun. ' was aimin' for da udder guy, but 'e was drunk. 'E shot Patrick in the head."  
  
"Shuddup, Bumlets!" I snap, a sharp pain forming above my right eye. "Bumlets, you're making my head hurt!"  
  
Damn him.  
  
Swifty sighs, hands deep in his pockets. "Sorry, ma'am." He whispers, not making eye contact.  
  
"Don't tease my momma! Don't LIE to her, she can't take it! You're dirty, the both of you!"  
  
"I- I'm just going to go home." Mamma whispers, shakily lifting herself to her feet.  
  
"Do you need help, ma'am." Bumlets says.  
  
He's evil. Telling my momma that, lying to her, then pretending to be nice to her.  
  
"Yes. Yes, I'm fine. Thank you." Momma swallows. "I just. I just can't believe my boy's dead."  
  
"I'm not dead, Momma!" I yell, throwing myself in her path.  
  
I grow cold as she walks right through me,  
  
My breathing is irregular.  
  
At least, it would be if I were breathing.  
  
I turn to Bumlets and Swifty. "I'm NOT dead."  
  
They don't hear me, and turn to walk towards the Distribution Office.  
  
I grip my teeth together, my hands clenched so tightly that my fingernails dig into my skin.  
  
I don't feel any pain. My head still hurts, though.  
  
I scream one last time. "I'm not dead!"  
  
The street doesn't echo my words.  
  
It doesn't agree with me.  
  
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Wheeee. That was fun!  
  
Hope it's not mucho depressing.  
  
Tell me if it is, though, It'd make me happy.  
  
-Tabloid 


End file.
